


bell, book, and candle

by fakelight



Category: Ted Lasso (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Ghost Hunting, Ghosts, Holy Water, Made-Up Ghost Killing Techniques, absolute nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27307468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakelight/pseuds/fakelight
Summary: “Wait, wait, wait,” Isaac says, gesturing wildly. “What you’re telling me is that we’ve got 400 ghosts?”“That’s too many ghosts,” Colin despairs.Richard shakes his head, grim. “We cannot fight them all.”“Hey, hey, hey.” Ted snaps his fingers, punctuating each word. “Yes wecanfight them all. We just have to work together. As a team.”
Relationships: Roy Kent/Keeley Jones, Ted Lasso & Rebecca Welton
Comments: 26
Kudos: 64





	bell, book, and candle

“Wait, wait, wait,” Isaac says, gesturing wildly. “What you’re telling me is that we’ve got 400 ghosts?”

“That’s too many ghosts,” Colin despairs.

Richard shakes his head, grim. “We cannot fight them all.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Ted snaps his fingers, punctuating each word. “Yes we _can_ fight them all. We just have to work together. As a team.”

“There is something strange,” Ted announces gravely, standing in front of the whiteboard. “In our neighborhood. Well, our treatment room. But, you know, our general vicinity.” In large letters above his head, Beard finishes writing _WHO YOU GONNA CALL? AFC RICHMOND._

Roy suppresses the urge to pinch himself. The time to check if he was dreaming or not passed hours ago—he’s very aware he’s in a living nightmare. The only saving grace of this evening is that Tartt decided not to show his face.

“We don’t have time for a movie night. But y’all have seen the movie, right?” Ted doesn’t wait for the nods. Of course they’ve seen the movie. “You know what we’re up against. We’re here to break the curse. And it’s going to take every single one of us.”

Sam speaks up, barely hiding the shake in his voice. Roy can feel his leg jittering up and down from the other end of the bench. “But Coach, there’s only thirty of us. And four hundred of them.”

“Now I thought of that. And yes, we may be outnumbered. But we’ve got something going for us that they do not.” Ted takes a pause. “Anyone know what that might be?”

There’s a long silence. Isaac screws his face up in thought.

“We’re alive?” he ventures, eventually.

Ted points at him, a single forceful gesture. “That’s right. We have bodies. We exist on this earthly plane. And we can use the tools we have at our disposal to usher these ghosts onto what comes next, whatever that may be. Now, I know I already gave y’all books, but it was a bit hard to find bells and candles on short notice, so we got the next best thing.” 

He nods at Nate, who comes around with a bin full of water bottles. Roy takes one, eyeing it skeptically. 

“I had Beard here say a few Hail Marys over these, and before you ask, yes, he is ordained. Saw the certificate myself. How many weddings you done now, Coach?” 

“Fifty-three.”

Ted whistles. 

“Coach?” Zoreaux shakes his bottle at him. “This one is Gatorade.” 

“Oh, shoot,” Nate mutters, and swaps it for holy water. 

Ted takes a bottle for himself, and waits for the room to quiet down. He gives them a look, and Roy feels something building inside him, a feeling like he’s about to step onto the pitch for a match that matters, really matters, even though what they’re really doing is going to throw some tepid water at the cursed treatment room, which he doesn’t believe in anyway, because there’s no such thing as fucking ghosts.

“These ghosts,” Ted says, his voice solemn, “all they wanted was to play some soccer. And all we want is to do the same thing. Now, I know you may be scared. I know they’ve caused us pain, and injury.”

Dani crosses himself, his knee still wrapped. 

“But this is our house, gentlemen. And we won’t let some see-through spirits push us around. So we’re going to go to that treatment room, and we’re going to send them on their way. I won’t lie, it will take some doing. But I believe in this team. I believe in us. And we’re going to show these ghosts what happens when you face off against AFC Richmond.” His voice builds to a crescendo, and they cheer.

They cheer because it’s a good speech, and Ted is good at giving speeches, and what are ghosts but another fucking team they have to beat?

In the hubbub, Roy notices, Rebecca Welton has arrived, standing with one foot in the open doorway, one foot out. She nods at Ted, who gives her a broad grin, then notices the room’s attention is focused on her.

She shrugs at their questioning looks. “I figured you could use my help. I’m the only one here who’s actually exorcised a demon.”

“Have you really?” Nate asks, awestruck.

Rebecca gives him a thin smile. “You may remember my ex-husband.”

The team erupts with hoots and laughter as Ted hands her her own bottle, but there’s something forced to it, a nervous undercurrent, like they’re pretending this is normal. 

There’s nothing normal about it

They’re about to fight some fucking ghosts.

Ted leads them to a halt in front of the treatment room door, the rest of the team falling silent as he holds up his water bottle. 

“Now, I’m going to open this door on three. And when it is open, we’re going to hit these ghosts with everything we’ve got. Which is to say, we’re going to squirt our holy water at them until they surrender.”

Beard raises an eyebrow. “You mean give up the ghost, Coach?”

“I do love your wordplay,” Ted tells him, “but this is not the time. Now, gentlemen, are you ready?”

The team answers in the affirmative.

“Now I could barely hear you, we need to _scare_ these ghosts! I said, are you _ready_?!”

“Yes, Coach!”

He nods, once, then turns to face the treatment room, takes a deep breath, and counts. “One, two—” he turns the handle as he shouts the last number, “—three!”

The door explodes open, and ghosts fly everywhere.

“Holy fuck!”

Roy throws himself out of their way, along with half the team, even as he knows it’s a stupid thing to do—they’re _ghosts—_ and is proven right as they fly right through him. It’s cold, he discovers, when one ghost passes through you, much less four hundred of them.

There’s screaming, and Dani’s praying, and he thinks Colin may be crying, but over all of it Ted bellows, “Everyone split up and chase them down! We may not get another shot at this!”

They do as he orders.

Roy finds himself running down the hallway, holding onto the holy water like it’s his only protection, which it probably is, and wondering how this became his life, when the lights flicker out and he’s alone in the dark.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking—”

“Roy?”

He knows that voice. “Keeley?”

There are still thirty or so ghosts that Ted can see, glimmering in the darkened corner of the treatment room, not moving.

Rebecca places one hand on his shoulder to steady herself, peering into the room from where she crouches behind him. “What are they doing?” she whispers.

He doesn’t know. 

“I don’t know.” 

He wishes Beard was here to offer some nugget of wisdom, but he’d gone screaming down the hall like a raging banshee, spraying water in bursts around him the second the majority of the ghosts had escaped. 

Ted considers what kind of ghosts would stay in the tiny room they’d haunted for a century when the rest of their brethren were exploring this new, larger world he’d opened for them. It’s something to consider.

“What do we know about ghosts?” he asks Rebecca, who frowns at him, confused at the question. It doesn’t matter. It was rhetorical anyway. “They’re dead. They stick around because they have unfinished business. What else?”

“They like scaring people?”

“Maybe.” He scrunches up his face. “Maybe not. Maybe these are the fellas that don’t want to scare people. Maybe all they want is to move on.” He stands up, and steps toward the room.

Rebecca grabs onto his jumper, tugging him back, hissing, “What the hell are you doing?”

He turns to face her, confidence surging. “I’m just gonna talk to them. See if I can figure out what their unfinished business is. Coach them past it, even.”

“Ted, this is a terrible—”

“But,” he continues, “I’m gonna need you to be my backup plan.” He nods toward the bottle of water she’s clutching. “Can you do that for me?”

Rebecca looks at him, uncertain. She blinks, once, twice, and then he sees resolve enter her eyes. “I can do that.”

“Good.” He gives her a nod, and they walk into the room together.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Roy demands. They’re in a broom cupboard, having yanked open the first door he’d come across and shoved them both inside to, ostensibly, hide from the ghosts, forgetting in his haste that they can float through walls.

Keeley purses her lips at him in the dim emergency light. “I work here now, remember?”

“It’s fucking midnight, Keeley.”

“Well, if you must know, I—”

He doesn’t find out the reason she’s there, however, because the door slams open once more. Roy pushes Keeley behind him, turning to face whatever’s coming, brandishing the water bottle like it’s a short, stubby sword, but it’s just Sam, a limping Dani’s arm slung over his shoulder. Keeley shoves past him, giving him a sideways look, and goes to support Dani’s other side.

Sam frowns. “Did you think we were ghosts? You know the ghosts would just float through. They would not use the door. That is the nature of ghosts.”

Roy ignores him, pushing past and slamming the door closed. “What’s going on out there?”

Sam lowers Dani to the ground slowly, Keeley assisting on the other side, then turns. “The ghosts, they are everywhere. Richard was right. We cannot fight them all.”

“Fuck.”

“We did get a few, though,” Sam goes on. “They were in front of us. I made a cross, with my fingers, like this,” he demonstrates, “and Dani sprayed them with the holy water. And they just . . . disappeared.”

“It was a beautiful cross, Sam,” Dani says.

“So you’re saying they _can_ be killed.”

“Can you be killed, if you’re a ghost?” Keeley asks, crouching next to Dani. “Or is that not the right term?”

“I don’t give a fuck what you call it, all I know is there’s ghosts out there. And we’ve got to get rid of them. Because it’s not just the treatment room that’s cursed now, it’s this entire fucking building. We have to stop them before they take out all of our knees.” Roy grimaces. “Sorry, Dani.”

Dani shakes his head. “Football is life,” he whispers. “And these ghosts . . . are death.”

“I’m going out there.” Roy looks around the room. “Who’s with me?”

Keeley stands up, all in one quick motion. “I am.”

Dani begins to struggle to his feet, but Sam stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right. You have done enough.”

He looks like he’s about to fight through it for a moment, then settles back against the wall, resigned. He hands Keeley his water bottle, then looks to Roy. “Avenge me, amigo.”

Roy nods, once, and opens the door.

“Excuse me, ghosts?” Ted knocks on the open door that they’d just stepped through. ”Sirs? Honestly, I’m not really sure what to call you fellas. Your spiritualnesses?”

Rebecca clutches the water bottle tighter, and wonders what she’s done in her life that has made her deserve this. How was she to know her scheme to take down her garbage ex-husband’s football club would bring her face to face with the paranormal?

The ghosts remain where they are. Glowing faintly, looking, for lack of a better word, haunted.

“Now, I’m guessing y’all know why we’re here. Coming in here with our holy water, yelling and what not. But can you blame us?” He shrugs. “Probably. We just want our treatment room back. But what I want to know is why _you’re_ here. What makes you maintain your grip, so to speak, on this plane of the living?”

She isn’t sure, but she thinks the ghosts are glimmering a little brighter. 

“I know you came here, to this room, thinking that you were gonna be soc—football players.” He turns back and gives Rebecca a wink. “Caught that one in time,” he murmurs, with a grin.

“Great, keep going,” she whispers, almost frantic, her eyebrows all the way up, watching as one ghost breaks off from the group and comes to slowly float in front of Ted.

“But unfortunately,” he continues, “that isn’t what ended up happening. And it’s a darn shame, too. Because I would have loved to see you play for this club.”

Three more ghosts float over. Rebecca unstoppers the bottle, readying it to spray, but Ted extends his arm behind him and pushes it down. 

“And you know what, that’s giving me an idea. A darn good one if I do say so myself. Why don’t you gentlemen show me if you’ve got what it takes out on the field?”

All of the ghosts float in front of Ted now.

He looks back. “What d’ya say, boss? Maybe I hire thirty more players?”

They walk in a rough triangle, Roy walking sideways on the left, Keeley the right, Sam backwards, watching their rear.

Every so often one of them jumps at a ghost flying by, but unwilling to leave the safety of the pack to chase it down, they settle for squirting their water bottle ineffectually in the vague direction of where the ghost had passed.

“This isn’t going to work,” Keeley says, panting a little. “We’ll run out of water before we hit any of them.”

Roy swears. 

“We need a plan.” Sam turns his head, still walking backwards. “Captain?”

“The fuck you asking me for?”

“Yeah Captain, what’s the plan?” Keeley chimes in.

Roy starts to roll his eyes, but also almost trips over his own feet when he does so, and settles for a muttered, “Fuck’s sake.” He takes a deep breath. “We could—”

He’s cut off by a shrill yelp from Sam, who edges backward quickly enough that he knocks Keeley over, Roy catching her before she hits the ground, wrapping her in his arms and holding on tight. She blinks up at him.

“You okay?” he asks.

She nods, giving him a small smile, and Roy feels it again, the feeling like he’s standing on a precipice, about to leap. He freezes for a moment, like he seems to be doing so often around her these days, before he remembers where they are and why they’re in this situation, not to mention the fact that Sam is still screaming. He sets Keeley gently on her feet, giving her a small nod as he does so, then turns to Sam. 

“Sam. _Sam_. What did you see?”

He slowly extends a shaking finger, and Roy turns to see the source of Sam’s fright. Fully a hundred ghosts pack the hallway, their combined glow illuminating the small space more than he thought could be possible. 

“Oh, shit.”

For one reckless moment, Roy thinks about storming them down, water bottle streaming, but immediately realizes what a colossally stupid idea that would be. There’s only three of them, versus the dozens of ghosts they face, and they could never take them all out with their limited supply of holy water. They need to retreat, regroup, find some of the others. 

Roy takes a step backward, bumping into Keeley and grabbing on tight, his other hand reaching for Sam.

His fingers close on empty air as Sam breaks into a run, charging down the ghosts, screaming and spraying and disappearing into their illuminated haze. Keeley screams his name, but he’s gone.

“Shit,” Roy breathes.

He doesn’t think about it. He just runs after Sam, his hand gripping Keeley’s firmly, ready to drag her if he has to, but she’s matching him.

Step for step.

“Ted,” Rebecca whispers as they walk, trying to find the sweet spot of distance where she can still claim some sense of employer/employee propriety and also not be any further away from him than she absolutely has to be. She glances behind them every few seconds, making sure the hazy cloud of ghosts following them isn’t getting too close. “What are you trying to accomplish here?”

He gives her an inscrutable look. “The same thing I’m trying to do every day. Coaching.”

“But Ted, these are _ghosts_.”

“Rebecca, what’s one of the first things I ever said to you?”

She thinks back. “ _Hi, I’m Ted Lasso_?”

“No—well yes, but that’s not the part I’m thinking of—excellent memory work, though. No, you asked me if I believed in ghosts. And I told you that they needed to believe in themselves.”

She blinks. He did say that.

“And that is still true. So I’m going to get those boys on the field and have them put their feelings into something other than cursing that treatment room. See if it does them some good. And maybe that’s their unfinished business, and they move on and leave us to our mortal coil. And maybe it’s not, and we have to find some other way of helping them. But the first thing we have to do is try.”

Rebecca nods, finding herself at a loss for words. She thinks about the call she’d made earlier that day, confirming Jamie’s return to Man City, and wonders when she became like this. Surely, once, she’d had the unflagging, innate kindness of the man walking in front of her. Before she met Rupert, for certain. As a child, perhaps. She doesn’t remember. 

“Rebecca?”

She starts, realizing that she’d slowed to a stop as her mind whirled, and finds herself standing in the doorway leading out to the pitch. 

“I think they’re waiting for you,” Ted says.

Rebecca looks behind her, and finds a large group of ghosts—larger than the group they’d left with, she thinks—clustered behind her. “Oh! Sorry,” she apologizes, and takes a few hurried steps forward. The ghosts float by her, single file. She thinks one might give her a respectful little bow.

“Couldn’t they have just floated through me?” she says to Ted, as an aside.

He frowns a little, then visibly brightens. “They surely could have. Looks like they’ve learned the first thing you need to know on this team—respect the boss.” He claps his hands. “Progress!” he shouts, and jogs after the ghosts, beckoning her along. “C’mon, Rebecca! It’s time for practice—I mean, training!”

She blinks, wondering when she became the type of person who would listen to this man.

And sighs.

And follows.

Sam is nowhere to be found.

The ghosts are gone too, scattering as they charged.

Keeley slows, tugging on Roy’s hand. “Wait, wait,” she pants. “Where is he? Where are _they_?”

“I don’t know,” Roy says, looking around, but there’s nothing to see. Just them and an empty hallway. “Fuck!”

“It’s okay,” Keeley says, trying and mostly failing to be soothing.

“It’s not fucking okay, Sam’s _gone_! And there’s _ghosts_ and _you’re_ here—”

She takes a step back, snatching her hand from his, stung. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What?” Roy looks confused.

“You’re worried I’m going to slow you down?” she asks, crossing her arms. “Because I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Of course I know that.”

“I’m an independent woman.”

“I never said you weren’t.”

“Well, all right then.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, Keeley’s heart pounding, and for the life of her she can’t tell if it’s from the ghosts, or the charged air between them, or both. She takes a step toward him.

He does the same.

And then jumps back as the lights flicker back on. Keeley feels a strange sense of loss, even as she feels herself breathe easier out of the dark.

“Christ,” he swears. “Did we win?” He looks around, but it’s still just them in the hallway.

“Maybe they’re all dead,” she offers. “Or whatever happens to ghosts when they—” She stops speaking, blood draining from her face as she sees something glimmer behind him. It’s a trap. 

“When are they what?” Roy asks, then sees her expression, as the ghosts surge forward.

She grabs his hand, this time, as the lights go out completely.

“Run.”

She doesn’t stop until they hit the end of the hallway, leading them by memory to the dressing room, the dim light of Roy’s phone barely penetrating the darkness. He pulls the shade down and locks the door behind them, for all the good it’ll do.

They turn in unison, brandishing their bottles, Keeley noting with dismay how empty hers is, and wait for the ghosts to come.

And wait.

“I don’t think they’re coming,” Roy says eventually, after minutes have ticked by.

Keeley tenses up, sure that the ghosts are listening just outside the door, waiting for one of them to make this exact comment, but nothing happens. She lowers her bottle. “I think you’re right.”

“What’s the fucking point?” Roy shouts, throwing his bottle across the room. “Are they trying to scare us to death?” He’s breathing hard.

Keeley shrugs a little, before remembering he can’t see her. “Probably.” She waits for him to go on, but he’s gone silent, staring at the door, waiting for whatever’s coming. She wishes there was a way they could get a little more light, and then remembers what’s in her bag.

The flame of the candle she places on the bench beside her barely illuminates the room, but it’s enough that she can see his face, the myriad emotions flickering over it. He looks angry, as always, but there’s something else there too. 

“I got this for Rebecca,” she says, as a way to fill the empty silence. “It’s like the cactus. Strong. But I don’t think she’ll mind.” 

He sits down next to her, pulling a book out of the inside of his leather jacket. The same book he'd been reading on the treadmill. She can't make out the title. “All we need is a bell,” he remarks offhand. 

Keeley doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but she’s sure the same is true for him. They sit, watching the door, the adrenaline draining away.

“I wasn’t worried you were going to slow me down,” Roy blurts out.

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “What?”

“Before. I wasn’t . . . I know you’re an adult woman. You know what you’re doing.”

“Thank you,” she says, slightly wary.

“It’s just.” He pauses, then looks up at her. “With you here, that’s all I could think about. I didn’t want you . . . hurt. And I know you can take care of yourself, but that didn’t stop me from feeling that way.”

She feels it again, the charge in the air. She thinks about her life, and how many times she’s been a walking cliché, and wonders if this counts. She decides even though that by the most simple of definitions, it is a life or death situation, she wants this to start as something else. She wants to do things different this time.

She kisses him anyway.

Not because it’s life or death, but because she wants to. Slow at first, but building quickly, because it _is_ life or death, and she’s on fire. It’s just starting to get good, good enough that she begins to worry about the candle getting knocked off the bench, when someone pounds on the door.

“Is that the ghosts?” she asks as they break apart, her heart pounding again, but unlike before, she knows the cause this time. It’s not the ghosts.

“I don’t think they’d knock,” Roy says, smiling at her, even as it slides off his face when he hears who’s at the door.

“Let me fucking in, there’s ghosts out here!” Jamie yells.

Roy shrugs. “Pass.”

“Roy!” she admonishes him, as she runs to the door and wrenches it open.

Jamie falls into the room, his face panicked before it switches to a look of confusion. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks her.

“What the fuck are _you_ doing here?” Roy says, standing.

Jamie gives him a look. “I’m supposed to be here, Lasso wanted us to fight the ghosts, remember?” 

“I do, that’s why I showed up on fucking time.”

She rolls her eyes. “Boys.” They both look at her. “Enough. Jamie, what’s that?”

He frowns, then holds up his hand. It’s a whistle. “I found it in the hall, I think it’s Beard’s. I saw him chasing some ghosts toward the pitch, I figured I could scare them off with it.”

“Right because that’s how you get rid of ghosts, loud noises. Well done, Tartt, the Ghostbusters will be fighting Man City for your contract.”

Keeley squints at him, considering. “I dunno, Roy, didn’t you say we needed a bell?”

He opens his mouth to argue, but then the realization dawns. Roy closes his eyes, and sighs.

“For fuck’s sake.”

The ghosts, in the end, are not very good at football.

They have enough substance to kick the ball around, for the most part, but either the past hundred years have not been kind to their skills, or they never would have made the team in the first place. 

Ted Lasso, however, doesn’t seem to notice this. He coaches like it’s a regular training, despite the fact that it’s midnight and the players are ghosts, whistle blowing every few minutes. Rebecca can’t believe her eyes. 

He makes one ghost run _laps_.

“He needed to see I was serious,” Ted tells her, when she questions him. “Can’t let the boys push you around, boss. Give ‘em an inch, and they’ll take a mile. Or uh, kilometer, I guess you would say here.”

Which is good advice for life, Rebecca supposes.

She hears a noise behind her, and turns to see Beard approaching, covered in what appears to be some kind of ectoplasm.

“Coach,” Ted says.

“Coach.”

“How’d we do?”

“Ended up blessing the water tank. Things went faster, after that.”

Ted nods thoughtfully. “Good thinkin’, Coach. Should have done that in the first place.”

“For next time,” Beard shrugs.

Rebecca feels like she's in a dream as the players arrive one by one, sharing their stories of their own ghost busting—Dani trotting out, shouting his own name and crowing that he killed the ghost that cursed his knee; Sam sniping ghosts one by one, a perfect shot each time; Richard taking a dive and then attacking when they thought he was vulnerable; Isaac forgetting to put the top back on his water bottle and splashing seven at once when he tripped; Colin taking out forty, just by pretending he was going to take a shower—“Thanks for fixing the water pressure, Coach.”

“Water tank,” Ted says to Beard, finger on his nose.

Beard nods, knowingly.

The last to arrive is a trio, Jamie running toward the pitch, triumphant, Roy and Keeley walking hand in hand. Keeley separates from her little group to envelop her in a hug. 

“I came to see if you were all right,” she says. “I figured you’d know something about exorcising demons, after that ex-husband of yours.”

Rebecca laughs, and exclaims, “I said the same thing!” She does feel like she’s gotten rid of something tonight, in a way, but it’s not Rupert. She feels lighter somehow, the fear, the anger that had driven her life for so long, evaporated like a ghost being hit with holy water. She returns the hug, then sends Keeley back to Roy and Jamie, who have joined the team in watching the ghosts run across the pitch. She’ll call Man City in the morning, tell them she’s changed her mind.

“They ran the play I wanted, but they brought their own stuff. Bell, book, and candle. A hundred ghosts at once. I’ll be darned,” Ted marvels to her.

She smiles at him, a real, genuine smile. “You’re doing good work here, Coach Lasso,” she tells him.

“Thanks, boss,” he says with a nod, as he looks at her, the way he always does. He _really_ looks at people, she's noticed. Sees deep down within them, to the soul underneath. She thinks that may be why he understands the ghosts so much—more than just the ghosts, if she's being honest.

Ted claps his hands together. “Coach, what do you say we have them have a little friendly here. Shirts and skins, only, you know. Alive and . . . well, not alive.”

“You got it, Coach,” Beard replies.

“Do you think they’ll move on?” Rebecca asks as Beard ushers the living players into position, reclaiming his whistle from Jamie. 

Ted shrugs. “That’s up to them. Each one of these ghosts has their own unfinished business to attend to. Maybe it _was_ soccer, and at the end of this we’ll have a few less ghosts in our day to day. And maybe some’ll stick around, and we’ll just have to figure out what to do with ‘em. But I think I can say with certainty that our treatment room is no longer cursed.”

He turns to the field as Beard blows his whistle and the match begins, the ghosts glimmering under the lights. “It really is a beautiful game.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! This is Absolute Nonsense, but I got this idea in my head and then I couldn't get it out, and so this is what you get. Do I know anything about ghost hunting? Absolutely not. Is every single technique of fighting ghosts in this made up in my head? You know it! But I love this show with all my heart, so, I offer you this. Find me on tumblr at [wanderleave](https://wanderleave.tumblr.com/).


End file.
